“Dishonorable Discharge”

A Salty old Master Chief walks into a bordello and approaches the madam and says,

"My name is Master Chief Dick and I'm here for a woman!"

The madam immediately escorts the sailor upstairs and selects the best girl they have for him.  He immediately disrobes and is standing with his hands on his hips while he looks at the prostitute awaiting him on the bed. He then says,

"My name is Master Chief Dick, been in the Navy thirty years, and I'm a master of my mind and body, DICK, ATTEN-HUN!"

Immediately, his penis becomes fully erect. The prostitute is in awe and asks him how he can do that. The Master Chief replies,

"Like I said, I've been in the Navy thirty years, and I'm a master of my mind and body, STAND AT EASE!"

His penis immediately goes limp. The prostitute still can't get over the control he has and asks him for another demonstration. The Master Chief says,

"I'm a master of my mind and body, DICK, ATTEN-HUN!"

A raging hard-on once again, and he follows this display of prowess with the command of,

"STAND AT EASE!"

His penis goes limp once again. The prostitute still can't believe her eyes and asks for the demonstration yet again. The Master Chief shouts,

"I've already told you honey, I've been in the Navy thirty years, and I'm a master of my mind and body, DICK, ATTEN-HUN!"

His penis becomes immediately erect, and then he gives the following command,

"STAND AT EASE."

The Master Chief looks down, and to his amazement, his penis is still hard. He then says,

"Apparently you didn't hear me, STAND AT EASE!"

Once again, his penis is still fully erect. The Master Chief is now fuming, and says, "I'm going to tell you one more time, STAND AT EASE!"

No luck, his penis is still hard. He yells,

"You bastard!"

… and moves to the side of the bed and starts to masturbate vigorously. The prostitute asks,

"What the hell is going on?"

The Master Chief replies,

"This penis disobeyed a direct order, and I'm giving him a dishonorable discharge!"

"Ships & Boats"

As a small child, I remember my father, a Navy officer, taking our family to the piers…

"Look at all the pretty boats, Daddy!"

… I exclaimed …

"Ships, Tara," he corrected me. "These are ships, not boats!"

Through the years, I'd tease my father with the same comment, and he'd always reply…

"Ships, Tara, ships!"

Eventually, I married a new ensign who faced a year of training before he was assigned to a fast-attack submarine. One day, when he strolled up our front walk with a grin, I knew he had received his first orders.

"So to what ship are you assigned?"

… I asked …

His smile turned quickly into a frown…

"Boat, Tara!" he said. "Submarines are boats!"

"H&R Preacher"

Now this ain't no shit, mateys!

Years ago when we were at Brunswick it was near tax times and I set up for doing guys' taxes. $5 for short form. I called the operation "H&R Preacher." Now we had this super young ensign about as dumb as they come, let's call him Ens. Rogers, came into the shop…

"You doing taxes for $5, Preacher?"

"Yes Sir. I need all your W2's, S.S. card and the booklet you got. And a fiver."

He hands it all over, just one W2. I go sit down on the bench, fill it out, and give it back…

"There you go, sir. Just copy the return for your records and mail it in."

He looks at the short form…

"That's all there is? That's not worth $5. I want my money back."

"Sorry sir, no refunds. You solicited me to do the work, I did the work."

The officer and gentleman by act of Congress storms out. Ten minutes later phone rings. Chief says…

"Preacher, get up to the skipper. He wants you like now."

Hoo boy, here we go… I walk into skipper's office. There's XO and the good Ensign Rogers with him. Skip says…

"Did you do this officer's taxes for $5, Bradford?"

Wow, he never called me by my last name.

"Yes I did, sir. I didn't go to him, he came to me and asked me to do it."

"Is that right, Ensign? You went to his shop and asked him to do your taxes for $5?"

Skipper's face is red, almost purple. Ensign nods, speechless.

"A commissioned officer. A university graduate. Father's an ambassador. And you can't fill out a little piddling damned form like THIS?"

"Sir... I mean... I..."

"Get the hell out of my office, Ensign, and see if you can make yourself useful for once!"

… He roars. Mr. Rogers decides he don't wanna be Skip's neighbor just then and runs out. Skipper grins…

"You know, Preacher, financial dealings between officers and enlisted is a no-no but since he solicited you I'm not going to say anything. But do us and you a favor. Don't take any more officer clients. This has been the best time I had in two weeks. When you get back to the shop, you tell your chief I said you got early libs. Go on, git!"

He and XO laughed Hard...

"Aye, aye, sir!"

… I bark and walk out.

"An All Hands Christmas"

All Hands Magazine is one of the leading distributors in keeping the taskforce up to par with what’s going on around the fleet. Here’s a few Christmas cheer comics from the magazine from over the years… 

Enjoy!!!

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"Americans & Brits"

Due to cultural differences, American and British sailors didn't always get along very well and often bar fights would break out. The British were usually very devoted to the Crown and were particularly sensitive about any slur regarding members of the Royal Family.

Our storyteller said he was once in a club in Halifax, Nova Scotia where American and British sailors were about evenly mixed. In an effort to be congenial, he, and his friends, started socializing with a group of British sailors. They were all getting along quite well when the topic of conversation drifted around to the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

In regard to the Duchess, one British sailor remarked,

"She is nothing but an American prostitute!".

Without thinking, an American sailor quickly replied,

"Well you may be right but she was good enough for the King of England!".

That did it, and, the fight was on!

American sailors soon learned about this sensitivity of British sailors concerning members of the Royal Family and took great delight in baiting them whenever they could. One shipmate told of a time when his ship was docked in an English port. British sailors usually wore hobnailed shoes that made a lot of noise when they walked. One evening, a group of American sailors were gathered at the rail when they heard someone walking up the deserted dock. Finally a lone, diminutive British sailor appeared in the one light on the dock. An American sailor shouted down,

"Hey, Limey!".

"What you want, Yank?"

… Came the reply …

"Fuck the King!"

The enraged Brit then stamped his feet several times and shook his fist. Finally he said…

"Hey Yank. Fuck Babe Ruth!"

… And marched off into the darkness.

Not all Brits rose to this kind of baiting, however. One story was told about similar circumstances wherein an American said…

"Fuck the Queen!"

The Limey calmly replied…

"Fuck her? You can't even approach her!"

"Crackerjack Souvenirs"

It needs to be said that without the United States Navy, some of the world’s finest waterfronts would be just another seedy place! Those harbors were built on good ol’ Navy bluejacket bucks. It was a time when proud American sailors could be seen rolling down streets in foreign ports with white hats cocked over one eye dibbing and dabbling in the horse trade of haggling down prices!

So many of us wasted our time standing in line at some foreign whorehouse or taking a three hour soapy in Bangkok, smoking cigars and getting loaded, Especially in the Philippines! It was a great place for Monkey Meat, Lumpia, Pancit, Balut … if you were into it and a San Magoo to boot! Yep, it was everywhere like sin and head colds.

There was Shore Patrol, basket hats, soul saving nuns, rent by the hour hotel rooms and ten year old tour guide shoe shine boys ready to take you for a ride … always remember that you’re special, just like everyone else!!!

But we were always looking for exotic souvenirs. It became a serious business for officers and crackerjack sailors alike. On our journey we’d find whores, pickpockets, flim-flam artists and at least one low life son-of-a-bitch who sold overpriced cheap cigars and souvenirs stuffed with newspaper shredding.

In places like Bali, you couldn’t go far without spotting a barrel of wangs. These well-endowed carvings were symbolic for good luck. Men even used to wear these charms around their necks to ward off the evil spirits ... Good luck convincing your shipmates to do the same.

In Hawaii, a fresh flower lei is a beautiful thing. It's natural, fragrant and delicate. But you could always find a cheap, plastic knock-off. Or you could take a trip in Oahu to the Aloha Bowl on Wednesday afternoons looking for three for ten dollar flamboyant colored tropical print Aloha shirts in many assortments and sizes of your choice.

And who could resist those tasteful gifts of prolific proportions at night markets around Australia!?! A kangaroo scrotum bottle opener was the must-have accessory for any home entertainer, while kangaroo paw backscratchers were in equal numbers too. Rest assured, these products were made in accordance with national regulations keeping in mind the most humane treatment of all fur balls involved!!!

It reminds me of the American souvenirs of old like the crap 'Turd Birds' found in gas stations across the good ol’ US of A! Montana Turd Birds, Texas Turd Birds, West Virginia Turd Birds... they all had one thing in common: they were made in various poses brought to life with pipe cleaners, plastic googly eyes and toothpicks ... Oh, the possibilities. Then of course there was the Niagara Falls Water and such meaningless cockamamie bullshit any side street snake oil salesman could get away with selling…

The wholesale proliferation of worthless consumerism made you more confused than a chameleon in a bag of skittles! Those street vendors would haggle you for the most useless toy horse crap and you’d walk away thinking you made a bargain, happy as a pig in swill! They ought to hang all those bastards by their toe nails I tell you!!!

The smarter, more seasoned salts spent their time and took pride in buying tailor made suits or silk cuffs for the Crackerjack uniform looking like a damn sailor was supposed to look.  These cuffs had Sharks, Chinese dragons, Rebel flags and embroidered mermaids sewed on the inside of their jumpers! Though unauthorized, it was as classy as you can get out!!!

The ships would return from deployment filled with sailors lining up for liberty wearing Westpac Jackets looking something like the Future Farmers of America used to wear back in High School! We’d bring back a treasure trove of gifts for the kids, girlfriends and wives from far away exotic lands.  My favorite all time was the foreign funny money we used to bribe the kids with to hang out with their friends so Mommy and Daddy could have a little bit of play time of their own if you know what I mean…

For those of you reading this who never had the opportunity, we took pride in our way of life! And the biggest souvenir of all … the memories! We collected them, savored them and used them to enhance these no-shitter tales of lore.  They’re the mortar that hold together our past and connect the next generation of whoever comes after!!  These types of souvenirs are a wonderful God-given gift.  It was a time when the world’s population loved the American Crackerjack and carved our image into the ages of time. Overseas collecting these mental gifts in port meant good times and hell-raising of untold proportions … We were proud.  We had a right to be.  

NAVY - NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, compartments were still, The sailors were sleeping, as most sailors will.

The ditty bags hung by the lockers with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The men were all peacefully dreaming in bed As visions of liberty danced in each head.

The Chief in his skivvies, hopped into his rack, Having just came from town and a quick midnight snack.

When out on the deck there arose such a roar, I ran to the porthole to find out the score.

I stuck out my head and started to shout, "Just what in the world is this noise all about?"

A moon made for boondocking showed with a glow, It was downright cold out, 'bout seven below.

What I saw out there looked like those Mardi Gras floats, 'Twas a Captain's gig drawn by four white Navy goats.

In the boat was a man who seemed quiet and moody, I knew in an instant St. Nick had the duty.

As quickly as Monday his billy goats came, He whistled and shouted and called them by name.

"Now Perry, now Farragut, Dewey and Jones, What's the matter John Paul, got lead in your bones?

A little to Starb'rd, now hold it up short, No fluffing off now, or you'll go on report!"

He was wearing dress "Reds" that fit like a charm, His hash marks they covered the length of his arm.

The gifts to be issued were all in his pack, The gedunk was ready to leave on each rack.

His eyes they were watering, his nose caked with ice, He wiped it with canvass, then sneezed once or twice.

He opened his mouth and started to yawn, It looked like the Sun coming up with the dawn.

The stump of a pipe, he held tight in his teeth, And took a small nip from a bottle beneath.

He wasn't so big, but he must have been strong, I figured he'd been in SEALs early and long.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Tar, Who said "Evenin' Matey, here - have a cigar."

He filled every seabag with presents galore, And left us all leave papers, right by the door.

With "Anchors Aweigh" he climbed back into place, A broad smile was creeping all over his face.

One look at his watch and he started to frown, "This mid watch is certainly getting me down."

Then out to the breakwater and into the night, The gig started fading, the landscape was bright.

"Merry Christmas" he said, as he drove on his way, "Now I'll finish my rounds and sack in for the day."

 Navy - Night Before Christmas - Author Unknown

"Braggadocio"

As the story goes, a Chief Boatswains Mate reported aboard. He soon let everyone know that his previous assignment had been aboard the President's yacht. The other Chiefs soon got tired of hearing him brag about how he used to bait the president's hook and assist him in fishing. Finally, they devised a way to shut him up. When he started on one of his boastings someone said,

"You know, he certainly isn't a Third Class Baiter!"

A second chief chimed in and said,

"No, and he sure as hell isn't a Second Class Baiter!"

Someone else piped up and said,

"He's even better than a First Class Baiter!"

Then in unison, they all shouted,

"By God, he's a Master Baiter!"

"Lights Out"

A destroyer pulled into Borneo for liberty. Cut down to a skeleton watch, most of the ship was empty for the night. A few piers down, a ship was loading local cargo for export. Among the crates was an orangutan, who broke out of his cage. The ape traveled the waterfront in the dark, and finally reached the destroyer. He climbed the mooring lines, boarded, and climbed up the smokestack. Inside the stack, the confused animal made it down to the engine room, and started wandering around. He came to an electrical panel, opened for maintenance, ignored the safety ropes, and managed to make contact with an extremely high voltage contact. Bright blue spark and the ship is suddenly dark throughout.

A few minutes later, two hull techs are searching with their flashlights for the problem. They come on the dark burnt hairy body. They shine the flashlight on his long, long arms. They look at each other. They look at his short stubby legs. They look at each other. They look at his face for a long time.

Finally, the third class tells the seaman…

"Okay, his legs are too short for a machinist mate, his arms are too long for a boiler tech, and he's too hairy for an electrician. Call the wardroom, see if any of the junior officers are missing."

“Party Naked” and Wear Loud Shorts"

Looking back on life, I can honestly say I’ve lived with a childlike faith in adventure that I could never shake. There was a time before my Bluejacket Crackerjack days in the Ol’ Canoe Club that helped mold me into the Sailor I was and the man I am today!!!

I loved it… I never knew how much until I’d been away from home and kissed my teenage years goodbye while leaping into the briar patch of life. One thing most of my friends in those days would concur with, I was never really securely bolted to the planet. I was full of energy, devoid of social grace, with a distinct aversion to proper manners and brussel sprouts. My poor parents wore themselves out trying to saddle break a kid who knew his path in life wouldn’t take him to a whole lot of places where proper etiquette really mattered. Yes, it was the 1980’s and if one thing stands out in my memory of those years in Central Florida ... “Party Naked” and always wear loud shorts" … all year round comes to mind!!!

Now there was a particular night I’d been asked to go Dutch on a double date with Allie Sue and our friend “Phiz Lipfisss!” Now her name wasn’t really Phiz Lipfisss. Her name is Liz and she got that nickname from a drunk’n friend on a drunk’n night … and that’s another story all its own!!!

Now Phiz was a meticulously built, blue-eyed blonde, pretty as hell beautiful full-blown woman … things haven’t changed as she’s still beautiful as ever! She was going on a hot date with some fella out of Winter Haven, our cross town rival, and for some reason I don’t seem to remember, needed a chaperone for this hot date. So in came Allie Sue to save the day, and she asked me to come along as the fourth wheel… after all, a third wheel usually just gets in the way!!!

The night got started as we were driving down the stretch of Havendale Blvd between Auburndale and Winter Haven.  Phiz’s date drove a wiggle-waggle yellow Buick Sedan with a super attenuated diafractic hydrogilator to make it cruise like a boat in the water! That’s when I noticed a couple of Polk County’s finest Mounties sitting on the side of the road and decided to “show my ass” out the window… Purely butt nekkit too! When it was quite apparent those deputies got a good look at my cute ass, our driver did an over and under flim-flam with a reverse hyperjack in alpha drive to try and lose those coppers as it was obvious they were going to be in hot pursuit at any moment! Yes I know, I was somewhat devoid of any socially acceptable behavior and my Grandparents would had been ashamed, but I digress!!!

Once we got to where the ol’ Havendale Drive-In was, we took a right turn into the ol’ neighborhood behind the Dairy Queen. By God, I swear we made about four 90 degree turns only to end up in some gauddamned driveway where we went from 55 miles an hour to a dead stop and tried to go into reverse all in a little over fifty feet. Just as we pulled out of the driveway, loud sirens and flashing lights lit up right behind us… we’d been busted. One of the officers got out and did the ol’…

“Driver’s License and Registration please…”

… And there I was watching as the officer beamed his flashlight straight on me as I instantly gave him that “It wasn’t me” look!  A few words were exchanged and the officer came to my window and said…

“You’re lucky this young man is a good kid or I’d haul your lily white ass to jail … now I suggest you keep your pants on and calm yourself down for the rest of this evening!”

Of course, like a good young chap, all I had to say was…

“Yes Sir!”

But still, even after all those years in the Ol’ Canoe Club, it never made me grow up!  I think the secret to happiness is not trying to change the person you love to be. Little did I know then while running around butt nekkit half the time, sharing adventures with my best girl pals, I would one day be writing stories about it. Looking back, it was crazy, senseless bullshit… great for conversation. It never meant anything at the time, as we were just a bunch of friends living our lives and making memories…

Where else but in the company of old friends could I chronicle my pain-in-the-ass adventures in hundreds of bullshit-packed installments and not be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town?

Love you gals... Did then, do now!!!

“The Fateful Day”

On December 7, 1941 it was a sunny Sunday morning. Fremont “Cap” Sawade, assigned to an Army anti-aircraft regiment, was in Honolulu on liberty, having breakfast. Loud explosions sent him racing to his base in a cab. He could see the Japanese planes flying low, dropping bombs and strafing battleships with machine gun fire.

“I was just plain mad,” he said.

Back at Camp Malakole, Sawade ducked for cover when the Zeros strafed it, too. How unexpected was the attack? Sawade said his unit didn’t even have ammunition for their big guns. Two days later, with the wreckage of the Pacific Fleet still smoking, he sat at a desk at Hickam Field and started writing a poem. He’d never written one before. He hasn’t written one since. But over the next week, this one flowed out of him.  He called it … “The Fateful Day.”

‘Twas the day before that fateful day,

December Sixth I think they say.

When leave trucks passed Pearl Harbor clear

The service men perched in the rear.

No thought gave they, of things to come.

For them, that day, all work was done.

In waters quiet of Pearl Harbor Bay,

The ships serene, at anchor lay.

Nor did we give the slightest thought

Of treacherous deeds by the yellow lot.

Those men whose very acts of treason,

Are done with neither rhyme nor reason.

For if we knew what was in store

We ne’re would leave that day before.

For fun and drink to forget the war

Of Britain, Europe, and Singapore.

For all of us there was no fear

This time of peace and Christmas cheer.

Forget the axiom, might is right,

Guardians of Peace, were we that night.

We passed the sailors in cabs galore,

Those men in white who came ashore.

But some will ne’re be seen again,

In care-free fun, those sailor men.

The Sabbath Day dawned bright and clear,

A brand of fire ore the lofty spear,

Of Diamond Head, Hawaii’s own.

A picture itself that can’t be shown,

Unless observed with naked eye,

That makes one look, and stop, and sigh.

What more could lowly humans ask

To start upon their daily task.

The men asleep in barracks late,

Knew no war, that morn at eight.

The planes on fields, their motors cold,

Like sheep asleep among the fold.

The ships at anchor with turbines stilled,

Their crews below in hammocks filled.

And faint, as tho it were a dream,

A sound steels on upon this scene.

A drone of many red tipped things,

The Rising Sun upon their wings.

Those who saw would not believe,

And those that heard could not conceive.

A single shocking, thundering roar,

Followed by another and many more.

To rob the sleep from weary eyes,

Or close forever those that died.

A hot machine gun’s chattering rattle,

Mowed men down like herds of cattle.

A bomb destroys an air plane hangar,

The planes within will fly no more.

Bombs explode upon a ship,

Blasting men into the deep,

To sink without the slightest thought

Of what brought on this hell they caught.

What seems like years, the horrible remains,

Blasting men and ships and planes.

And just as quick as they had come,

Away they went, their foul deeds done.

To leave the burning wreckage here,

The scorching hulks of dead ships there.

And blasted forms of dying men,

Alive in hell, to die again.

At night the skies were all but clear,

The rosy glow of a white hot bier,

Showed on clouds the havoc wrought,

And greedy flames the men still fought.

But from the ruins arose this cry,

That night from those who did not die,

“Beware Japan we’ll take eleven,

For every death of December Seven.”

And from that day there has arisen,

A cry for vengeance, in storms they’re driven.

This fateful day among the ages,

Shall stand out red in Hist’rys pages.

Those men whom homefolk held so dear,

Will be avenged, have no fear.

And if their lives they gave in vain,

Pray, I too, may not remain.